Prologue

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Hello! I'm the author here. This part was added after 9 other parts of the story, so to the new people who have just entered the room, this message shouldn't really matter to you. 

But to the readers who have been with me before this prologue, this prologue is just a glimpse on how Eiko's previous life played out and how she died. Honestly, I should've written this before any of the other chapters, so I feel a bit guilty. It's your choice if you want to read this or not. (I do recommend reading it, because it has some more information about Eiko, put main character.) Thank you for staying with me all the way up to here!

Thank you, @Namuun0914, for making this prologue happen!

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The mountains of papers on my desk seemed to loom over me. 

Why must someone have to do so much work? I'm a well-known psychologist, and I should be resting! 

Plus, the only reason I'm popular is because of my many connections. Famous people would always book appointments with me because of my experience with other celebrities.

.

.

.

It all started out one day, when a women with sunglasses, a mask, and a cap had rudely barged into my office and plopped herself down on my couch.

"...Hello?" I asked, not sure how to respond. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before, so it confused me a bit. What kind of human behavior was this? "Do you need somethin–"

"Are you a psychologist?" the woman asked, at the same time interrupting me. "What's your name?"

"...Eiko Tamura, miss," I said my given name first, because I'm in Los Angeles speaking English. Not Japan anymore. "What about you?"

The woman seemed to stare at me for a while. I say 'seemed,' because I couldn't tell with her shades covering her eyes. "...You mean you don't know me?"

I blinked. Of course I won't recognize her if she covers her face! Does she think she's some kind of celebrity?

Wait, if she is a celebrity, then it would make sense. That sassy attitude, her ridiculous attire, and the fact that she expects me to know her. 

"Are you well-known in the area?" I ask back.

Scoffing, she crossed her arms. Is she feeling self-conscious? I imitate her gesture. "There's no way you wouldn't know me unless you've been living under a rock."

"Maybe I would recognize you if you show me your face," I snap back with a smile on my face. Gosh, even if she is a celebrity, how can someone be so rude!?

"Ah, right..." she mumbled, then wrestled with her accessories until they were completely off her face. "Better?"

I drew in a sharp breath and clenched me teeth to keep my jaw from dropping. 

Her long lashes fluttered like butterfly wings as she blinked. Her hazel-colored hair––which was tucked in her cap––rolled out like a red carpet onto her shoulders. Her fair skin shimmered as the sun hit her face. She was absolutely gorgeous, and I couldn't even deny it.

Now I know why she kept her face hidden. With a face like that, it was somewhat reasonable to have such a condescending personality.

"....I admit, you do have beautiful facial features, but I still don't know who you are," I manage to spit out. 

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